When I was at Kentucky I got booed one night by a group of students who came to the train to see us off for a game with Cincinnati. I had fired some of our star players, and they didn't like that. And we'd lost three of our first five games, and they didn't like that either, which I can understand. I didn't like it myself. In fact, I hated it. For a young coach-which I was then-so keyed up I couldn't get to work in the morning without vomiting along the way, it was not exactly heaven on earth. The Cincinnati game took on added importance.
Cincinnati had fine teams then, coached by Sid Gillman, who has been a big name in the pros and is with the Houston Oilers now. What I'm about to say should not be taken as a lack of respect for Sid. You have to appreciate that my collar was tighter than it is now.
We got to the stadium at Cincinnati and I sensed something was wrong. When we got out to warm up for the game there was nobody in the stands. Just a handful of people scattered around. I thought for a minute I was in the wrong place. When we finished our warm-up and the Cincinnati team still hadn't made an appearance, I said to Carney Laslie, one of my original assistant coaches, "What's that no-good, conniving smart aleck"-meaning the eminent Coach Gillman-"up to now? What the h**l is that d**n thief trying to pull?"
Carney just shook his head. He was as dumbfounded as I was.
I ordered the team back into the locker room-and then it dawned on me. I'd screwed up the schedule. We were an hour early.
I was too embarrassed to tell what I knew. I just walked around, up and down the aisles where the players sat waiting, my big old farmer's boots making the only noise in there. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I didn't say a word. For an hour I clomped up and down. Finally, when I'd used up enough time, I delivered a one-sentence pep talk, the only thing I could think to say.
"Let's go."
They almost tore the door down getting out. Cincinnati was favored that day, but it was no contest. We won, 27-7.
For years afterward Carney Laslie and another longtime assistant named Frank Moseley used to tell the story whenever they spoke football groups or at clinics, describing it as the greatest psychological ploy they had ever seen. I didn't let on because I was embarrassed. I finally spilled the beans to Carney fifteen years later, before he died, and I wish now I hadn't because he was sure disillusioned.
"You mean," he said, "that what I've been calling the smartest move I ever saw turned out to be dumb luck?"
I had to admit it was.
This excerpt was taken from the book "Bear: The Hard Life & Good Times of Alabama's Coach Bryant", by Paul "Bear" Bryant with John Underwood. It is available here at
Amazon. If you have not read this book, I highly recommend it. The story begins about half way down on page 1.
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